


The Thunder Speaks For The Sky

by duinath



Series: All These Things That I've Done [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duinath/pseuds/duinath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taevel is not having the best time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thunder Speaks For The Sky

Taevel stops mid step. Why did he come here? He is desperate for some comfort, something familiar in this strange place, but why is he going to Solas? He's an elf, yes, but he's a flat-ear. In Taevel's experience flat-ears have more in common with shemlen than they do with the Dalish. Besides, Taevel hasn't met that many flat-ears, but he has noticed some of them have some ...strange ideas. 

They seem to think the way shemlen live is what's 'normal', and he can't exactly disagree with that. His clan certainly wouldn't do very well if they moved into a city. But the more flat-ears emulate shemlen, the less they understand the Dalish.

Shems seem to see flat-ears as a lesser version of themselves. They're their servants, their cheap labor, their easy targets. Even humans who think well of elves tend to treat them like children, fragile and naive.

Both flat-ears and shemlen seem to think Dalish elves are something entirely different. Some think they are feral as animals, stealing, snatching children, and killing shems for sport. Some think they are mysterious and wise, keepers of some long forgotten knowledge other elves just can't understand. Most often people of all kinds assume he has some sacred connection to nature.

He has been venerated as a spiritual guide by flat-ears old enough to be his grandparents. He has been scorned as a brutal savage by flat-ears and shems alike.

Neither role suits him.

The role of 'Herald of Andraste' suits him even less.

He doesn't usually spend much time in cities. Sometimes he goes into a town to trade, if the clan has need of it. Other times, he visits a tavern for the novelty of drinking with people he hasn't known since he was an infant or they were. He never stays long. He's never wanted to. There is nothing so exhausting as trying to meet or defy the expectations of strangers. He's never spent this much time with such a large group of people before, and it is taking its toll. 

Haven is full of perfectly normal people, all of them basically decent, if sometimes misguided. All of them expect something from him. Some of them act like he owes them, some think he should be grateful to be chosen by their god. Some bow their heads when they see him, as if he were royalty. As if he were a god, or a saint.

He is exhausted.

"Dare I ask?"

Taevel startles, and turns to meet Solas' eyes. He's been lost in thought, not far from Solas' cabin. He's not sure he wants to speak to him right now, his nerves rubbed raw. But then, why not give him a chance? Even if it doesn't turn out the way he hopes, surely it is better to know.

"Hello," he says belatedly. His cheeks are getting hot, and Solas is smirking at him, because of course he is.

"Hello, Herald. Is something wrong?"

Taevel wishes he wouldn't ask. "I'm perfectly alright, Solas," he lies baldly, "I just wanted to ask you something."

Solas seems to accept this. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, I was hoping you could share your opinion on elven culture," Taevel says. Hoping against hope this won't go as badly as he thinks it will. He opens his eyes wide and blinks stupidly. The way he used to look at his mother when their sweetest berries mysteriously disappeared. The way he looked at Zathrion when they 'happened' to hunt in the same area.

His mother would scold him, and Zathrion would roll his eyes, so he's a bit surprised when Solas just blinks back at him for a long moment. This... might have potential. It reminds him a little of how Zathrion would go pink around the edges, and that had certainly worked out well. Before he can pursue it, however, Solas seems to register the question, and scowls.

"I thought you'd be more interested in sharing _your_ opinion on elven culture," he says. "You are Dalish, are you not?"

Well. That does answer his question, he supposes. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly, gathering his thoughts.

"I am Dalish, yes. I am proud to be Dalish, because they are my people, and I love them. That doesn't mean I think I know more than you. You are not only older than me, you've traveled the world in ways I never could. Your experiences are no doubt completely different from mine, and I was just curious." He starts off strong, but by the time he is done his voice is weak, and his feet seem extremely interesting all of a sudden. 

Did he just call Solas old? Oh no. He glances up, and is a little relieved to see Solas' lips quirk. 

"Ir abelas ...da'len. I should not have assumed."

Taevel does his best to move the conversation along, and Solas, as ever, is happy to share what he has learned. His voice is soothing, and Taevel finds himself fascinated by the breadth of Solas' knowledge. He paints a bittersweet picture. Elvhenan sounds beautiful, more beautiful than he can imagine, and it is lost forever. Even the memory of it is distorted and fading.

That night he falls asleep easily, thinking of crystal spires twining through the trees. Thinking of Solas, peacefully asleep, in a crumbling ruin from a time long past.


End file.
